


An Exercise in Futility

by Rinari7



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dreams, F/F, Fighting to Kissing, Problematic Relationship Dynamics, Slightly Out Of Character, Slightly dubious consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinari7/pseuds/Rinari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Her arm is warm where B’Elanna’s hand still rests, fingers clenched in a tight grip. “Release me.”</em><br/>Seven of Nine has not yet had any pleasant encounters with her subconscious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Exercise in Futility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_goofball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_goofball/gifts).



> because if I'm honest I'm pretty sure [Resistance is Futile](https://archiveofourown.org/series/374504) is what got me hooked on the B'Elanna/Seven ship in the first place. (And yes, the dedication comes a bit late, I'm aware.)

_B’Elanna sets down the hyperspanner, her eyes narrowed, lashes quivering. The glow of the warp core highlights the ridges on her brow, the angle of her chin. They’re alone, for some reason. Maybe there are klaxons sounding, an evacuation of some sort, but Seven doesn't register any over the thrum of her pulse. She feels unsettled, restless, nervous, “on edge.” Perhaps she’s received some electrical shock she wasn’t aware of, because her skin feels tense, but her implants are all functioning within normal parameters._

 

_“Get away from the console.” B’Elanna glowers, her eyes dark. She is… aesthetically pleasing, this way, intense and unselfconscious._

_“Why?” Seven has a task to complete, too. She wouldn’t be in Engineering unless it was necessary, given how much its mistress dislikes her, now would she? It would be illogical._

_“You’re interfering with what I’m doing.” Impatient, as always, B’Elanna reaches for her hand, removes it bodily from the interface, and raises her arm as if to practically fling Seven away, nostrils flaring._

_Seven steps back, swallowing. “Notify me when I may continue.” Her arm is warm where B’Elanna’s hand still rests, fingers clenched in a tight grip. “Release me.”_

 

_Yet B'Elanna doesn’t. Instead she lowers her head, blinking, inhaling deeply, her lips parted. “You’re so—infuriating.” It’s practically a growl, and Seven braces herself for whatever is coming next, likely another lecture on not modifying the systems without permission, though she can’t recall anything recent that might have incited this._

_“It was not my intention to provoke your temper.” Seven waits, chin up. The environmental controls must be malfunctioning, because she feels far too warm. Was that what she had been doing, re-initializing them? She can’t remember, her gaze fixed on the woman in front of her._

_“Shut up.” B’Elanna’s eyes snap to hers, and she lunges the short distance to press her lips to the corner of Seven’s mouth, to scrape her teeth over her skin, to bite._

 

_Seven retreats—she wants to, but her feet won’t cooperate and she stumbles. The grip on her wrist is gone. One of B'Elanna's hands is on her waist to steady her, the other on her neck, a nail slightly scraping the underside of her jaw._

_The pressure is gone now, the half-Klingon's lips just barely whispering against hers. Seven's cheek stings, but it is not unpleasant. B'Elanna is almost hesitant now, apologetic, her breathing shaky, but she keeps her eyes closed and makes no sound._

_It feels awkward, to lay an arm over B’Elanna’s shoulder, to set a hand flat against her collarbone, an odd sort of familiar. Seven’s not sure how to do this, not in practice, but she gently presses her slightly open mouth to B’Elanna’s and touches her tongue to her upper lip._

_B’Elanna lets out a quiet, trilled mewl, carefully closes her teeth over Seven’s bottom lip, and tugs._

 

* * *

 

“Warning. Regeneration cycle incomplete.”

Cargo Bay 2. She was in her alcove, not Engineering. Seven had never woken disoriented before, pulse quick, skin hot. She must have been malfunctioning in some way. The Doctor would know what to do.

 

 _B’Elanna Torres…_ one of the few people on the ship who had never seemed afraid of her, nor tried to mold her in their human image. Also one of the few who expressed open, vehement dislike of her. A highly illogical, futile fixation.

Seven did not think much of this “dreaming” phenomenon. There had to be some way to make it stop.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel a little guilty for producing something with some of the problematic and potentially damaging behaviors I tend to rail against in other people's work.  
> But I'm terrible at refusing my muse so this happened anyways.
> 
> Also I've never written femslash before, so please let me know if I screwed up in that area as well.


End file.
